


Before the First Light of Durin's Day

by Chrononautical



Series: The Mushroom Mine [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Here there be porn, M/M, PWP, and very purple prose, one might even say florid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 03:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12099555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical
Summary: Bilbo has waited so long for the taste of Thorin on his tongue. The king has ached for want of the vision that is his hobbit. Within the Mushroom Mine at the heart of Erebor, they finally come together.





	Before the First Light of Durin's Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpted sex scene from the end of chapter 28 of A Passion for Mushrooms. Normally I'd say it would only be of interest to people who were reading that work, but it's really just smut. If that is of interest to you, please proceed.

Bilbo looked radiant in the golden lights of Erebor. Thorin had thought so from the first, when they had only begun to reclaim his home from the dragon’s dark. Now, however, standing in his little mushroom mine where all the light had been captured by Thorin’s own heir, wearing the work of Thorin’s hands and the craft of his ancestors, the hobbit was positively incandescent. And at long last, the dwarf was permitted to do more than look. He could touch. 

The soft brownish-gold of Bilbo’s hair curled around Thorin’s fingers in perfect contradiction to the smooth mithril of the hobbit’s crown. Contrasting the feather light strands of gold to the coarser feel of dwarven hair was inevitable. Miraculously, despite all the differences, it seemed that the underlying feeling might be the same. When Thorin tugged those downy locks, just a little, the hobbit gasped in pleasure. Clear permission for Thorin to touch as he wished was writ large in those wide, joyful eyes. Indeed, as Thorin continued to stroke his love’s hair, it was the burglar who darted forward once again to steal a kiss. 

Thorin tasted of mushrooms. That was reasonable enough. After all, the king had been eating the same delightful stuffed trilbies which he had fed to Bilbo at the party, starting this whole affair. Yet for the first time in the whole of the hobbit’s life, the taste of Black Trilbies was secondary. Beneath the incidental taste of his dinner, Thorin had a distinctive flavor all his own. He was savory, warm, and strong. It was the sort of flavor that a hobbit might roll on his tongue for long minutes, enjoying every moment until the morsel was wholly devoured. 

Oh, how Bilbo wanted to devour Thorin! 

“Right then,” Bilbo said at last, pulling away and licking his lips. “That’s more than enough dwarvish nonsense. It is long past time for some hobbit traditions.” 

Looking down at his eager hobbit, Thorin found that he could think of nothing that he wanted more. “Is it?” he asked, hoping against hope that the careful research of Nori’s spies would finally prove fruitful. “What did you have in mind?” 

“You gave me a tiger lily, Thorin.” Bilbo’s delicate hand reached up to touch the orange blossom in his crown, tracing the long, smooth fire opals which Thorin had shaped so carefully. “A tiger lily.” Ah. A tiger lily spoke volumes in the flower language of Bilbo’s people. Passion was the gentlest of the meanings which Thorin had heard ascribed to such a bloom. That was what had been written in the published book which was bought and sold throughout the Shire. Common gossip apparently suggested that giving such a flower was an invitation for an affair of the body, not only the heart. 

“So I did.” Thorin could not help smiling. “I do not know if you noticed, but there is a bee at the center of your lily, perched right upon his stamen. Is there some custom that usually accompanies the giving of such a flower?” Nori’s informant said it was a sign of copulation among the people of the Shire. If Bilbo saw a honeybee at the center of a tiger lily, he might just be overcome with the urge to fuck the closest desirable target. Thorin was very, very interested in discovering if this rumor held any truth. 

The hobbit made a sweet, eager little noise and threw himself at Thorin once more. Those nimble little hands slid over the ceremonial armor Thorin had been obliged to wear for the Final Hours of Amending, clearly seeking his buckles. Helping would have been appropriate. Bilbo had never worn plate mail and so would not know how to remove it. Unfortunately, Thorin’s own hands were occupied caressing Bilbo’s soft little body through the mithril shirt which the hobbit wore. Those miniscule links were as pliable as they were indestructible, and it thrilled the dwarf to no end to have his hobbit wear the first, and arguably most valuable, of Thorin’s gifts. 

Thorin’s clothes were endlessly frustrating. A hobbit could quite grow to hate them. Finally Bilbo simply gave up on getting anywhere with the shining breastplate and focused all of his efforts on getting Thorin’s pants down. This seemed to be an achievable goal, and soon there were a few bits of armor strewn about and trousers down around Thorin’s boots.

“Bilbo?” Thorin sounded endearingly confused when the hobbit left off kissing him to sink to his knees. 

“Shire tradition,” Bilbo said. “Very important. When someone gives you a tiger lily with a bee in it, pants become quite superfluous. I’m afraid I must insist. If, er, as long as you’re okay with that?” 

It was difficult to read Thorin’s expression gazing up at him from such an angle. The king seemed to be blushing. Certain parts of him were very enthusiastic about Bilbo’s obvious intentions, but after all of their many missteps, it wouldn’t be right to continue without plainly spoken words. 

“Okay?” Thorin laughed like a stream after a springtime melt, knocking eagerly up against a dam that was fit to burst. “I am entirely at your disposal. Truly I was informed about the meaning of the tiger lily before including it in your crown and now that we are courting, I freely admit that it is my deepest desire to see to your every pleasure. Yet I would take you to my bed, Bilbo, and court you properly. You need not kneel to me. Many times you have reminded me that the Shire has no king.” 

“Need not?” Bilbo murmured, half to himself. “Certainly the Shire has no king, but I have one. Or are you not my king?” The hobbit forced himself to keep his hands in the relatively neutral territory of Thorin’s hips, but he could not help it if his breath ghosted over the dwarf’s very impressive hammer just a bit. 

Thorin groaned. “By Durin’s beard, yes. Yes, I am yours.” 

“Then may I kneel before you? For I believe I wanted to the very first moment I saw you, before you opened your insulting mouth, and a thousand times since as well. In the Shire we may not bend at the knee to a king, but it is a common practice to do so for love.” 

“Love,” Thorin repeated, half in a daze. “Yes amrâlimê, do what you will with me.”

That was more than permission enough. At long last, Bilbo was able to lean forward and taste Thorin as he so desperately wanted. 

Thorin could not think. He planted his feet on the granite beneath him and he remained still. A rock of Durin’s line had self control enough for that. Yet Bilbo’s mouth was hot and wet around him, sucking and sliding in sublime movement, drawing pleasure from Thorin’s body like wire from a spool, evenly and seemingly unendingly. 

“Perhaps,” he managed to gasp, “there is some merit in your Shire customs.” 

Bilbo, honor and glory to his very name, laughed. Full as his mouth was, he laughed, and the sweet huffing vibration rumbled through Thorin’s cock to the heart of his being. 

“Bilbo! Bilbo, you must end this,” the king said at once, tugging weakly at the hobbit’s hair for fear of hurting him.

In answer, Bilbo hummed an affirmation and took Thorin even more deeply into his mouth. It seemed impossible, but the little hobbit’s lips reached all the way to the base of the dwarf’s cock, his clever hands reaching up to caress the jewels of Durin’s line. No dwarven stronghold could withstand such an assault. Falling apart before him was the only possible result. So it was that Thorin surrendered to his love, and put all his faith in Bilbo once again. 

Thorin tasted like possibilities. He was salty, savory, bitter, and just a little sweet all at once. Of course it was only the first taste of many, but Bilbo settled in to enjoy it, drinking as deeply as he could. It was almost more than he could handle all at once, but it was also the fulfilment of a long cherished hope, and the hobbit enjoyed it thoroughly. When Thorin gave a final twitch and Bilbo licked the last little drop from his tip, the hobbit sighed and rested his head against the juncture of his lover’s thighs. Big dwarvish hands stroked Bilbo’s head clumsily, and gratitude spilled from Thorin’s lips in awkward, halting words. 

“Mmm.” Bilbo pressed a little kiss against Thorin’s hip and tugged at the dwarf’s hand for help getting to his feet. The mighty king obliged easily, practically lifting Bilbo up, though his eyes were still soft and glassy with pleasure. “You should thank me in the Shire custom.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Thorin asked, kissing Bilbo very thoroughly before the hobbit could answer. 

“Getting undressed,” Bilbo said dishonestly. “In the Shire tradition, it’s considered a kindness to undress yourself before lying with a lover.” 

“Is that so? You do not help one another?” Thorin pressed a little kiss against Bilbo’s neck, and the hobbit was forced to consider a future in which he was never once peeled out of his clothing by an eager king. 

“Well, when we are wearing great piles of armor it is,” he said stubbornly.

Once again Thorin laughed, a happy, rumbling sound that thrilled Bilbo to his very core. “If you would have me disrobe, you need only ask for yourself,” the king said, shucking his breastplate and tunic as easily as one might shell an acorn. 

Bilbo grinned. “You shall have to teach me that. That’s another very important hobbit custom, teaching your lover how to get you out of your clothes, when they are unwieldy masses of leather and steel. I should have had your pants, at least, except those bizarre contraptions were quite in the way.” 

Chuckling, Thorin drew his hobbit in for another kiss, thrilling at the taste of his own spent pleasure on Bilbo’s tongue. “I am afraid my boots are here for the duration,” he said, bending down to remove them and setting them some distance away, next to a small pile of other hastily removed clothing. “I hope they will not vex you too greatly in the future, now that you understand the difficulty presented by skipping straight to your prize.” 

“I have never seen the harm in taking my dessert first,” Bilbo murmured, watching Thorin undress with rapt fixation. “I promise, I am still quite eager for the rest of the meal.”

Taking his cloak, Thorin spread it out upon the granite of the path so that his gentle love might have somewhere soft to lie. He could barely believe that Bilbo had so readily gifted him with a work of pleasure, less than an hour into their courtship, but he would never decline such an offer. Indeed, Thorin dared to hope that his love might allow him to return the favor. That perhaps these so-called Shire customs would lead to a more intimate request. The king’s mind was so caught up in wondering what Bilbo might ask for, that it was nearly an entire minute before he noticed that the hobbit was still fully clothed while Thorin had obligingly divested himself of all arms and armor. 

Thorin was absolutely majestic. Long black hair framed his perfect face, and more yet furred his muscular chest, trailing down across his stone-sculpted abdomen, pointing like an arrow to his resting cock. While his feet were small and strangely hairless, his legs were planted like tree trunks on the path, one upon his cloak and the other beside it, in a pose that seemed almost too heroic to be real. Bilbo could do nothing but stare. 

“Have I gone too far?” the king asked hesitantly. “Is the implication that we should lie on the path together too much so soon in our courtship? You resisted the suggestion of my bed. Is there truly some custom among hobbits regarding such matters? I beg you will tell me if I have misstepped.”

“What?” Bilbo shook his head quickly. “No, no missteps. You’re perfect. So perfect. But yes! A hobbit custom. Very, very important.”

Thorin quirked an eyebrow. It was an appallingly attractive mannerism at the best of times, but when he was unclothed it was unfairly advantageous. Bilbo’s thoughts very nearly puffed away like dandelion fluff on the wind at the little movement. 

“Kiss me,” he breathed, and Thorin obliged. Oh how willing Thorin was to oblige. His tongue filled Bilbo’s mouth like the final ingredient in a long recipe. Bilbo felt he had been waiting all his life, just to have Thorin so close, smelling of dwarven sweat, kingly incense, and nothing but himself.

“May I assist you?” Thorin’s voice was a soft, eager rumble, and his strong hands toyed with the lower edge of Bilbo’s mithril shirt. “I believe I know how to take this off already, though it is a swath of metal much stronger than steel.”

Laughing, Bilbo lifted his arms over his head and allowed Thorin to remove his armor. Crafty dwarven hands made quick work of the buttoned up waistcoat underneath it as well, but when they went for his shirt, Bilbo surprised himself by shying away. He craved Thorin’s touch as he had never wanted anything else in his entire life, yet he ducked in for another kiss, placing Thorin’s hands firmly at his sides. The king did not reach out, but his forget-me-not blue eyes glittered with questions. Since he did not know what to say, Bilbo simply kissed him again. 

“My love,” Thorin said slowly, keeping his hands carefully to himself, “if I have pushed too far or too fast, I beg you to tell me. It is in my nature to take, and to strive ever forward until I have all that I desire. Yet I tell you truly that anything which you do not want is anathema to me. What you have already given me is so far beyond all that I dared hope for. We might simply lie upon my cloak together as we are, and still it would be the fulfillment of my dearest dreams.” 

“Oh good.” Bibo’s whole body was trembling. “Let’s do that.” 

So they moved to sit upon the soft fur together, Thorin proudly bare of all adornment save two beads in his hair while Bilbo was yet clad in shirt, breeches, and crown. It did not seem to help. The hobbit slid close, but he was clearly afraid. Thorin could feel the fluttering of his pulse when he brushed a hand over the hobbit’s neck. Of course Bilbo feared him. It was natural that he should do so. Had Thorin not once seized the little burglar by the throat and tried to kill him? 

“Command me,” Thorin begged hoarsely. “It is yet the Day of Amending. Is there nothing I can do to prove you need not fear me?”

“Thorin!” At once Bilbo was kissing him again, practically throwing himself into the dwarf’s lap in his haste to reassure him. “No, no, I do not fear you will hurt me. I know you never would.” 

Bilbo kissed Thorin’s beard, his neck, the strangely gentle curve of his ear, but he could not seem to stop his hands from trembling like a young buck out with his first lass. Thorin was so wholly perfect, and entirely too intelligent not to notice how terrified his hobbit was. Ignoring the question in those blue eyes forever would be impossible. 

Looking down at the hard plane of Thorin’s chest, Bilbo said softly, “I want so much.” 

“Name it,” Thorin said eagerly, his hands coming up to rest gently on Bilbo’s hips. “Only name it and I will see your desire granted.” 

Bilbo bit his lower lip. “It is not so simple.”

The king looked thrilled by this admission. He did not understand. “You must know that I am not one to flinch from adversity, Bilbo. I say again, anything you desire. Anything at all. If you would have me bound and helpless or eating sweet meats off your ass, I am beyond willing to oblige.” 

Gasping at this use of plain language, Bilbo reached out to trace a long heroic scar across Thorin’s left shoulder. “Yet it might not be so. We are so very different, Thorin.” 

“I swear it,” Thorin repeated. “You are my one love, tell me how to please you with my courtship.”

“But that is the problem,” Bilbo said at last. “I am not your One. I cannot be. I was not made by Mahal to be loved as you were.”

The dwarf stopped breathing. For a moment, he was as still as any other stone. Then his face twisted in a mask of fury.

“Perhaps if I put the mithril back on,” Bilbo suggested quickly. “It is very beautiful, and you like to see me wear it. Then, I could—”

“I knew it,” Thorin growled. “I knew the moment those words left my lips that I had placed a curse on all of my endeavors.”

“What?” 

“I was the one who put that idea in your head. When I told you that Kili could not love Tauriel because elves were not made by Mahal.”

“Oh, er, I suppose yes. That was the day that you danced with me.” Still trembling, Bilbo let his hands stroke over the hair on Thorin’s chest. “I do not mind. A hobbit’s love is a growing vine, and it can thrive on a rock as easily as a tree, so long as you want to be close to me it does not matter very much. I just think it would be best if you did not have to see how very hobbitish I am. So I will just—”

Bilbo reached for the mithril shirt as though cloaking himself in precious metal would increase his value to Thorin. The king caught his hand and pinned him easily to the cloak, stripping him bare. A little squeak was all the protest he had time to make. “That was very easy,” the dwarf admitted. “I see there are many benefits to the hobbit mode of dress.” 

Bilbo blinked up at him, then laughed in shock. “Thorin! You cannot simply—”

“It was very wrong of me,” Thorin agreed, dipping his head to bite gently at the hobbit’s neck. The shiver with which these efforts were rewarded definitely did not come from nerves or doubt. “Tell me how to make amends.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, but then he was quite unable to say anything else. A broad dwarvish hand was on his cock, bold as anything. 

“How can you think you are not beautiful to my eye?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo whimpered, jerking his hips up into that tight, firm grip. Obligingly, Thorin began to move his hand in slow, lazy strokes.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Perhaps I did not know it until I saw you in the sunlight of the Carrock with the Lonely Mountain silhouetted in the distance behind you, but it has always been so.”

Squeezing the fur cloak in his little fists, Bilbo bit his lip and tried not to whine as Thorin’s calloused thumb teased at the tip of his cock. 

“I was wrong.”

Bilbo gaped in shock and then groaned in pleasure as Thorin gave him a gentle squeeze. He did not think he had ever heard Thorin say precisely those words. 

“However it is that hobbits are made, I was made by Mahal to love you. Yours is the name carved into my heart for all my days, and I belong to no other. If your love for me has grown, then I bless all the green and growing things of this world, but my love is unchanging stone and it is yours forever. Do not doubt it.”

Bilbo did not. He could not. Helplessly he thrust up into Thorin’s fist as the dwarf continued implacably until all the world exploded into golden light. 

Panting for breath, the hobbit found himself cradled against the dwarf’s chest, lying on the fur cloak in the center of his mushroom mine. 

“You know,” Thorin said softly, “I feared it might dishonor you, were we to take our pleasure first in any place other than the king’s bed.”

“Oh?” Content as a cat full of cream cakes, Bilbo snuggled drowsily against his love.

“Now I am pleased that we met in this place. Your cave chamber full of mushrooms, where both a hobbit and a dwarf may thrive, seems oddly fitting.” 

“Mmm,” Bilbo agreed. Lazily he stretched a hand off to one side and plucked a mushroom, snacking on it sleepily. “This is the best place in the whole world.”


End file.
